


An Insufferable Arrangement

by GlassesAndGiggles



Category: Aladdin (1992), Aladdin - All Media Types
Genre: Comedy, F/M, Gen, Pre-Movie(s), Raunchy humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-09-27 18:09:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10037741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlassesAndGiggles/pseuds/GlassesAndGiggles
Summary: Can Jafar and Jasmine work together to get what they want?





	1. Investigation Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jasmine snoops, Jafar reprimands.

"-and Iago, once that's completed I'll-"  
But what Jafar was going to do was left unsaid, his mouth slamming shut as he looked around his study. This was his public study, the one that everyone in the Palace knew about. The one that everyone in the palace knew not to disturb. Which made it three times as distressing that things had been rearranged, moved, and shuffled all over the place. Scrolls were sitting half-open draped across the backs of chairs. Books were set back on the shelves, but their spines uneven, not pressed neatly together the way he liked it so that some of the books binding cast partial shadows over the depressing titles of their neighbors. 

Panic instantly wrung its way around the vizier's neck. Iago leaned his feather head forward, craning to look around the room, but he knew better then to start chattering away when someone was potentially so close.  
Jafar's hand slide down to his belt, searching for the handle of his ebony dagger. If the bandit was still here, and if they had already found something incriminating, then they'd have to be disposed of instead of formally presented to the guard. He continued to scan the room.

A thunk from beneath his cherished writing desk. The bandit was still here. And clumsy.  
"Ow!"  
Jafar crept along the side of the room, holding his breath, pulling the knife into attacking position. He felt every muscle in his body coil up, ready to strike.  
A head peaked out from under the desk.  
Jafar bolted forward.  
Big, watery amber eyes gazed at him.  
Jafar froze, the blade hovering inches from the bandit's neck.

Burgling in her own Palace, Princess Jasmine's lips took on the all-too-familiar sneer of contempt that characterized their relationship.  
"Why are you so close?" Jasmine leaned back. Jafar yanked the dagger back to his side. Jasmine's eyes followed it. Then, comprehending, she too late raised an arm up to defend herself.

"Jafar!" She cried. "Why in Allah's name do you have a dagger out?!"  
"I thought you were a bandit." Jafar replied coolly.  
"Aaah, a bandit. Aaah." Iago chimed in.

Jasmine rolled her eyes, through her legs shook a bit as she stood. In her hands she held a tome wider than her stomach.  
"And you didn't turn around and call the guards who are trained to handle bandits because...?" She asked. She huffed, taking Jafar's book over to one of the table. She swatted at the papers already there without regard and dropped the book she'd dug out from beneath the desk on the top. "And why was this under the desk?"

Jafar blinked, reading the title. It was in ancient Urdu; and import so she wouldn't be able to understand it anyways. A bit rusty, Jafar struggled to remember what it was about. Why had it been under the desk?

"Regardless, Princess, it is my possession and I do not recall you asking for permission to-"  
"It's my palace, I do not have to ask for permission from you or anyone else to touch anything in here."

She prodded him in the chest, before turning and opening the book. An inky illustration clearly indicated an advanced lovemaking maneuver boldly looked out from the page. Jasmine's jaw dropped. Iago laughed, before catching himself and turning it into a series of shrieking caws. Jafar delicately reached past the princess, grabbed the cover, and closed the book again. 

Ah, yes.  
That's why it had been under the desk. Not something generally well-looked upon in the highly religious nation he served, though in the neighboring highly-religious-but-in-a-different-way nation to the East sex was just seen as another element present in all that was divine and mundane. Ergo, the book. And the books hiding. 

"Sometimes we hide things away from the Princess for her own protection." Jafar provided, slipping the book up and carrying it over to a shelf. He'd find somewhere more appropriate for his tome of Tantric Sexual Spellcasting at some point, not that he ever imagined it'd be used for anything other than academic curiosity. The spells only worked when consenting and in love; harem girls couldn't complete the couplings needed for the magic. 

"Was that... is that..." Jasmine spluttered. Red crept up from her shoulders to her cheeks, as if someone had started to sprinkle curry powder into her cinnamon-sugar complexion.  
"I am not at liberty to discuss anything in the realm of the contents of that book with the Princess; that is a duty for her future betrothed." Jafar flicked his eyes to the door again. It was only open a crack. It would not do to be caught in a room alone with the Princess as a man. "Speaking of which, have you reached a decision yet? We've been entertaining Princes for months now."

"Obviously not." Jasmine folded her arms over her chest, her small breasts swelling up beneath the swath of her pajama top. The Princess really should wear more, but since the Sultan hadn't really taken the poor thing to any events since the mother's death, she just lazed around in her pajamas most days. "I was looking for holes."

"Holes?" Jafar's eyebrow crept up.  
"Loopholes." Jasmine gasped, as if it should be obvious. "I don't want to get married."  
"Jasmine if you don't get married, who will take over the Kingdom?"

"What does it matter who rules Agrabah if I'm not allowed to be with my father? I'm all he has left, I don't want to move away for the last few years of his life, just to come back after he dies so some jerk can take over..." Jasmine's eyes grew moister in frustration. Jafar continued to stare impassively at her, and she huffed in disgust. "You're supposed to be smart; can't you find something, anything to release me from this duty?"

"Perhaps if your mother hadn't died, she could have given you a brother or more sisters to take the burden from your back; alas life is not fair."  
"I order you to find me a way out of having to marry and move away!" Jasmine said with sudden fierceness. Iago laughed again, and Jafar reached up to scratch his neck beneath the feathers, through a bit too harshly.  
"Princess, I only research and apply the law, I do not write it."

"There has to be something..." She gestured around at the many book shelves. "Some weird situations, some unique case, something that happens at some point in Agrabah's history that... that can keep me here."  
"I'll... do my best, Princess." Jafar purred.  
Jasmine's arms, still extended, deflated and fell to her sides. 

"You better! Otherwise when I am Sultana against my will, I will release such a useless vizier from duty!" She barked, still red-faced. The blush hadn't entirely faded from her face since seeing that lewd illustration. Her eyes drifted over to where Jafar had stashed it again, and then, with an exhale that utterly deflated her, she stormed from the room.

Jafar closed the door behind her. He listened attentively to her slippered steps disappearing down the hallway. When all was safe, he growled.  
"You don't have to wed if you're dead, Princess."  
Iago burst out laughing again.


	2. A Problem Presented

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jasmine reveals her true feelings towards her city.

Jasmine's fingers worked through Rajah's fur, but her face was buried on her pillow. The cool breeze drifting in from the open balcony could do nothing to chill the steam from her crying face against her pillow. The domesticated Tiger nudged her arm, trying to nuzzle his massive head beneath her slight elbow. She relented, letting him cuddle close to her. His scratching tongue lapped at her salty cheeks, but being an animal he had no words of comfort for her. 

There was a knock on the door. Jasmine didn't look up. Another knock. She continued to ignore it. Finally, she heard her father's voice drifting beneath the sturdy door.

"Jasmine? Jasmine, I'm coming in." He was trying to sound assertive, but trepidation still shook every syllable. The door swung open, the Sultan stepped in. He huffed as he yanked on the handle.

"I don't want to." Jasmine heaved a sigh. "I don't want to get married."

The Sultan's eyes went soft, like a dog hearing their owner's keen of pain. He sat down on the edge of the bed with a little hop. He turned and looked at his daughter, patting her forearm.

 

"Jasmine, this is a day that most look forward to their entire lives."  
Jasmine looked up at him, rivulets of waters dripping from her eyes.

 

"Think of how lucky you are to be born a princess..."  
Jasmine's soppy gaze hardened.

 

"Even though I was born royalty the only thing I’ve ever had reign over is my own body," She gestured down at her legs, then back at her shoulders with a violent jerk of disgust. She sat up, towering taller than her diminutive father. "-and now you expect me to give that away too."

 

"Such crass terms, Jasmine. That's not what anyone wants. I want you to-"

 

"Why should I do what you want?" Jasmine snarled. She was up. She was storming to the balcony. She threw aside the curtain. Below was the garden with its bubbling fountain. Beyond, the burble of the streets of Agrabah in mid-day activity. She turned again, her hair whipping around her as she pointed with accusation. "For a city I’ve never seen? For the benefit of citizens to whom I’ve never spoken?"

 

"Jasmine, they are your people..."

 

"They are nothing to me! I do not know them and they don't know me." She snarled, and years of anger came tumbling with the venom of the following words. Her usually bird-like voice grew cold and distant as she gazed at the sand crusted building, unseeing. "What do I care if they are a free and happy people? Or are crushed slowly by a tyrannical madman? They never cared about me. They never came to free me."

 

"But, you are not a prisoner."  
Jasmine's amber eyes regarded her dad. He simple-minded father. Her tiny stomach clenched. 

 

"My clothes, my meals, who I can speak to, where I can go, it is all decided by my keepers. How am I not a prisoner, father?" Her eyes skimmed the distant dunes, yellow heat against the cool blue sky, a land of infinite possibilities, but also, the end of the world. 

 

"You have the best of everything. Don't be selfish, Jasmine. I am sorry, but you must learn to accept your role. Some are born poor. Some are born rich. We all have our burdens." The Sultan waddled over to the door.  
Jasmine flicked her gaze over her narrow shoulder.  
He hesitated.

 

"You, really do not wish to marry?"

 

"I haven't even lived, and the world wants me to bring new life into it. I... I can't. You're all I have, and marrying will mean someone could take me away from you. I just... I can't do that."

 

"I suppose I can have Jafar look over the family tree, see if there's anyone in the line of succession that will be suitable. I have no brothers or sisters, but maybe..." The Sultan mumbled to himself as he let the door close behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to make it a multi-chapter. It'll eventually be Jafar/Jasmine, though this Jafar is a bit softer then the one in Twisted Tales.


	3. Therapy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The origins of Iago's big personality revealed. Jafar plans his next move.

Jafar sloughed into his study, this time, the private one. His real home, hidden behind long-since forgotten servants' passages and dug into the cellar. The labor that had dug it had been men facing the death penalty for a myriad of crimes like larceny, rape, and murder. Whether they were guilty or not Jafar wasn't sure, but the added security of their executions upon completion of his private apartment always helped him sleep better at night.

The sorcerer-turned-vizier settled down onto the chaise. He almost collapsed. That would have been dramatic. So instead he settled. He waved one hand in the air, summoning Iago to him. It would have been graceful...

...had Iago not been zoning out, watching the fire pattern that danced at the edge of one of the many lit candles. As it was, Jafar had to snap at the parrot to get it to acknowledge him at all. A snarky exchange then proceeded Iago's eventual fluttering over to his hand.

"Wow you look awful. Total garbage. Like the bad parts of Agrabah, that's you," Iago said.

"The Sultan was in a mood today. As was Razoul. Of course, I can quiet Razoul, but with the Sultan, there's nothing to it but to listen." Jafar worked his brow with his free hand, the fingertips attempting in vain to work away the wrinkles. Jafar's hair had all fallen out long ago, whether from stress or black magics side effects was hard to determine.

Plus, he was old. Iago was always reminding him of that.

"Yeah, it's crazy, right? You'd think we'd decide who could be in charge based on merit, or like, ability. Not who slide out of whose-"

"Enough." Jafar smirked, regaining from energy at his best friend's levity. "You know what must be done. I trust you've eaten well today?"

Iago groaned. 

"Jafar, I got enough of my own problems, I don't need your baggage too. Have you ever thought of, I don't know, just..." Iago waves his wings through the air in a pantomime of human shrugging. "...holding onto your emotions and processing them? Like a normal person?"

"If I ever find myself doing anything as a common man again, please end me immediately." Jafar replied silky. Jafar approached the transference pedestal. He'd stacked a few books on the small onyx disc. He moved them aside, exposing the lines of red painted into the surface. They were elaborate script in a dead version of an eastern tongue. Iago hesitated. Jafar glared him.

"Fine, but I'm not happy about it. I hate this when you have bad weeks." Iago whined. He shuffled down Jafar's sleeve, and then settled uncomfortably on the smooth surface, his taloned feet aggravated. "You ever think of putting a perch on this thing? If all goes well I'm going to live to be over 100 and this weekly torture session is killing on my feet."

"Maybe when I'm less busy." Jafar distractedly lit the small circle of candles around the disc. This made Iago's shadow cast around him in a circle, six silhouettes of the bird. "Now, quiet."

"Yeah, yeah." Iago griped.

Jafar reached beside the shrine, opening a silver jar. The small pool of enchanted honey was shallow. He'd have to purchase more, though Jafar wondered if the wizard who knew how to craft the special substance would want Jafar had to trade. Last time it'd been books, and the exchange before that a dagger laced with drowsiness. Those of magic didn't work in the economy of regular currency.

Jafar brought out the delicate serving stick, carved from an ancient tree hewn in exactly two by a burst of lightning. He dredged it through the honey. He took several centering breaths, separating himself from his immediate, pressing, mortal distractions. 

He opened his mouth. A golden droplet hit his tongue. Then, lowering himself, he exhaled in a softly whispered spell. The honeyed breath hit Iago, who inhaled.

The scent was normal enough; Jafar even at his worst smelled far preferable to the city market in which Iago was hatched. Spiced meat and drink a few hours old, the musty stench of a tongue imprisoned behind a while of teeth while longing to lash out, and the stiff sweetness of centuries old honey.

The smell wasn't what made Iago stagger.

Jafar had been right. He'd had a bad week. Even though Iago had been there to see it, being a bird, the trials of humans naturally affected him on a less. It's not only that Iago lacked empathy; he was an entirely different creature, not even mammalian, and the subtle cues of expression, scent, and tone were all learned, not instinctive.

Iago hadn't realized how traumatic it'd been for the sorcerer until Jafar directly injected the emotion of the week into him. As with every transference, there was the madness. The creeping madness of age and ambition. A yearning want to control and bend. A need to be adored. Not just respected, not just obeyed, but worshiped. A need that week after week Jafar reliably had not had met. Iago had gotten used to that, and even learned to laugh at it.

The surprising thing this session was the desire. Jafar had been sweet on Jasmine's physical appearance for a few years now, but in an impersonal way. This week the encounters with the Princess had ignited a dizzying array of emotions. There was resentment, that emotion that had replaced apathy in Jafar's feelings towards the pajamaed girl. But there was also...sympathy? Jafar's own past as a slave had been unwillingly brought to the front of his thoughts. Jasmine's frantically searching through the books, searching for something, anything, to give her her freedom was just like Jafar decades ago at her age. He'd been searching for anyway to free himself and his family from a future that he did not want. Nights spent sneaking around the Master's library after a day of grueling work. Falling asleep on the open tomes. Being startled when discovered, though unlike Jasmine he had been punished.

But stronger then pity was want. Desire for the Princess that had gone beyond 'yes, you are a woman, I see you' into 'Let me see more. Let me see all.' Jafar had been wracked by these inappropriate thoughts for the Princess. Iago's incompatible biology got rid of the physiological aspects. His brain did not have the same notches and chemical composition to sustain the arousal, leaving him only with the sense of great frustration and depravation at not having what he wanted. And shame. Iago could understand shame, and these feelings of yearning crawled all over his skin, deep into his veins. It made his stomach, full of fine fruits and seeds, tighten in disgust with himself.

Finally, Jafar had been afraid. Fear was not an emotion Jafar expressed openly. One look at his snake-like visage, the impassive half-hooded eyes, the line of a mouth, he didn't seem like anything would shake him. But he'd been afraid this week. There was the moment of terror when he thought for sure that the Cave of Wonders would crawl across the sand and crunch him into nothingness. But after the shock of that had worn off, there was a persist wound of worry. For the future was uncertain in a way it had not been for nearly twenty years. Jafar simply did not know who his next master was going to be, and it made him feel like a scared little boy all over again, yanking books from the shelves and searching desperately, desperately for answers. But he wouldn't find one. There was no legal way for a little slave boy to save his whole family. There was no way for Jafar to see the future, it went against the laws of nature and magic. Even if it was unfavorable for him, to just know would be such a relief.

If only Jasmine would pick a husband, this agony of uncertainty could dissipate.

If only she'd pick me, an impossible thought blossomed in Iago's mind as Jafar's will. The parrot, still foggy from the infusion, muttered the words on the tail end of Jafar's spell.

Jafar's eyes slid open, a new serenity sapping the fire from them. His unoccupied heart felt a pang of sympathy for the unsteady Iago, his emotional vessel. He slipped his hands beneath the bird, cradling him in place. Iago unsteadily stepped onto Jafar, who moved him over to Iago's preferred perch.

"Rest now." Jafar deposited the bird.

"If only she'd pick me." Iago repeated, his head starting to nod. He almost always slept after the transfer, dreams making the emotions easier to process for his fragile mind. Jafar scratched Iago once behind the neck in sympathy, before he turned. His mind sharpened, the fog cleared.

The first step to determining the future of Agrabah was to make the Sultan commit to an heir. Jafar would make the Sultan pick a Prince or a male relative to inherit Agrabah. Jafar would make the Sultan write that person into his line of succession this week.

Jafar snatched his ebony Cobra staff as he strode out of the room. In the darkened study, Iago breathed deeply, a parrot tormented by the hopes, fears, and desires only a human could envision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is based off the interesting factoid I read about Iago's canon backstory, that Jafar transfers all of his emotions into Iago. This is why Iago is so hysterical and loud. Just think, if Jafar didn't do that, he'd be such an angry hissing thing himself! Of course, Iago also ended up being a better person then Jafar did, so maybe Jafar overdid it a bit and took out the good emotions with the bad ones? Didn't want his judgement clouded by love or empathy? Seems he went mad anyways, so readers, please don't channel your emotions into talking birds. It's just not reliable medicine!

**Author's Note:**

> I just finished reading A Whole New World: Twisted Tale 1 and I've always loved Jafar so I felt inspired. Please let me know if you'd like me to continue. I'd like to write more fanfic but right now I don't have any beta-friends so let me know if you'd be interested! Thank you!


End file.
